Note
by Calmasis
Summary: It comes as a surprise to everyone Harry Potter manages to live for his fourth year. He comes to Hogwarts with hopes for a normal, peaceful year, but they were all crushed when he is forced into a dangerous wizarding tournament and everyone suddenly turns his back on him. He has little to hope for now, until he finds that odd black notebook. Dark!Harry, slight Dumbledore bashing.
1. Prologue

**Hi everyone! To some of you who might have found this through my Homestuck SBURB survival guide ('So You're Playing SBURB?') it's now a little obvious this is the first actual story I post in this site. To those who found it through other means, well, now you know.**

**Also, I mentioned in the summary this would be a dark!Harry story. He is, in a way, trust me. But he will still be fighting to defeat Voldemort through other means. However, that does not necessarily mean he will be siding with either Dumbledore or the Order of the Phoenix. That said, I truly hope you will enjoy my story!**

_**Disclaimer: Anything you recognize does not belong to me. I do not have any intention to write this for profit.**_

* * *

**Prologue**

* * *

"_Harry Potter_."

Said wizard didn't quite know if he had heard correctly.

Harry sat there, aware that every head in the Great Hall had turned to look at the boy with the worst luck in the history of Hogwarts. He felt numb. He was surely dreaming.

It was a buzz, not unlike angry bees, that made him snap out of it. That one buzz that usually meant everyone had ducked their heads and started whispering furiously to their seatmates about something fantastic or unfathomable the boy wonder had done, to overshadow every other event in the year yet again. There was no applause. No cheering. He wasn't a Hogwarts champion. It was Cedric, the one who had earned it, not him. For all they cared, he was just a simple-minded dunce who wanted all the glory for himself. It was unfair.

He still didn't believe it, even when Dumbledore called him to follow his fellow champions in to the chamber. But it was still fresh in his mind. How the fire of the goblet had turned red a fourth time. Sparks flew, a flame shot up in the air, lighting everyone's shocked and irritated faces. The innocent piece of parchment glided in the air briefly, spinning and twirling, completely oblivious of the hundreds of eyes that followed its every movement, before the Headmaster had snatched in mid-descent. And called his name.

It was frustrating. When he lifted his gaze he met the sight of the entire Gryffindor table gaping at him, even Ron and Hermione.

It took him a lot of effort to find words.

"I didn't put my name in," He said, reassuring himself more than anyone else. Harry's throat felt sore. His hands were sweating."You know I didn't."

Someone called him again.

"Go on," Hermione gave him a gentle push.

Harry Potter had no option but to go. The whispers and accusing looks only grew in number...

* * *

Yet, all were unaware of the masked creature perched on one of the statues lining the stone walls of the Hall, like a scavenger watching over its prey, monstrous skeletal wings drawn tightly to its body.

A kid with a green tie screamed, "He's a cheat!"

Other said, "He just wants the money for himself, that attention-seeking git.", which was followed by a cry of "He could have at least told us!" from another loud human who had been seating near the boy. The moment human Harry James Potter had disappeared behind closing doors, the god of death curiously eyed a female one wearing a black-and-yellow tie sneak an apple into her pocket from the table (when teachers were distracted taming the ruckus before it got out of hand).

Death gods often wondered how apples in the human realm tasted like...

"We should have known, little _Potty _here wouldn't resist another chance to gain the eternal glory he was already born with!"

It threw its head back, cackling.

_Humans_.


	2. Chapter 1: Notebook

**So, here it is! The first chapter! I truly hope this is enjoyable and well-written. I, myself, am still not entirely sure if writing this fanfiction is a good idea, or if my writing skills are satisfying at all. But it has been fun, and I certainly will be looking forward to writing more chapters.**

**Also, I know this chapter will seem a little too fast. It's supposed to be just the introduction, a brief summary of Harry's life in his fourth year at Hogwarts and what events lead up to the actual plot, which is the last bit of this chapter. On chapter two the story ****_really _****does start.**

_**Disclaimer: Anything you recognize does not belong to me. I do not have any intention to write this for profit.**_

_**PS: If you see any bits from the actual book; I did that on purpose. I found it more convenient than just re-writing canon, and I promise this will be the first and only chapter that stays loyal to the book for the most part. **_

* * *

_**Chapter One: Notebook.**_

_"The human whose name is written in this note shall die."_

* * *

It was always quite a bit more joyful when the children were at Hogwarts, Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington had always thought to himself at the welcoming feast on the beginning of a new school year. And although he had long ago fallen into Death's arms. maybe, with a small possibility, he felt the tiniest bit alive when he saw Hogwarts' empty and quaint hallways be filled with people that were still so full of joy. He drifted past many doors, portraits, and corridors, because he as were the other ghosts, were heading to the Entrance Hall to welcome the newer students. Along the years, it had become a very amusing tradition to startle the firsties as they were led into Hogwarts for the first time in their lives. Perhaps a bit cruel, but it certainly helped the kids get used to that kind of oddities residing at the castle.

He continued on his way, that is, until he felt something a little out of place.

A presence. Not exactly a person. They weren't anyone alive for sure, or a ghost for that matter. They were entering the castle, sneaking into it, hiding themselves so naturally he surely would have dismissed it if he were in a full hallway with so many things to distract him, and would not actually think of it twice before shrugging it off.

And the thing, he realized with fright, felt like something vile. Something deathly. He had only felt anything quite likely the same second the axe came swinging down on his neck so many years ago. But it wasn't pain. It was that feeling of dread you got when you knew that would be it for you, that you would die. That feeling when your body went numb and everything slipped into darkness, until, for the last time, you closed your eyes, just like falling asleep...

Sir Nicholas snapped out of his thoughts when a chill ran down his spine.

He shivered, brows tightly knit together and lips pursed, as he resumed his trip to the Hall.

What a presence of death was doing at a school, he did not know. Sir Nicholas made a mental note to have a word with the headmaster.

* * *

Everyone with a common sense knows Gods of Death are curious beings. Unmotivated, but curious. Though, they are so very old, it takes one of a kind to draw in one of these bored creatures, who have seen and done everything there is to see and do, and had long gotten bored of their monotonous, nearly pointless existence. They are curious, indeed, but their laziness far overshadows it. They gamble and sleep and kill for survival, no longer going at it merely for a simple pleasure. Anybody who takes the time to write names regularly is laughed at and mocked, because why bother, right? Death Gods exist of the sake of existing, living off the death of others. They are immortal beings who can't die unless they are killed, and the amount of people who know how to kill a god is scarce. The truth of their purpose is lost and unknown.

It remains a fact, though, that sometimes one Shinigami is fed up enough with his or her rotten, decaying world.

So their hand slips, and somewhere in the world, a black notebook falls from the sky into a realm full of unsuspecting humans. Interesting, greedy, disgusting, and most of all unsuspecting. There have been many cases, oh yes indeed. Cases in which a human is given the powers of a god, a Death Note, without actually having to achieve godhood. They are full of themselves, some of them. Those get caught easily, after wreaking havoc and disrupting peace in their realm, though often for a very short time. And there are others, who write one name, panic, and write their own immediately after because they are quickly trapped within the deadly clutches of remorse.

All death gods must possess at least one Death Note, a necessity to extend their lives. Should they manage to come across a second, it should, at least in principle, be returned to the Shinigami King. When a Death Note is dropped in the Human World, humans who pick up the notebook may use that Death Note to kill others. If a notebook ever reaches the human world and is picked up by a human, the Shinigami must accompany the human until they die or the Death Note is willingly given back. Shinigami can explain the purpose of the Death Note to the human, just as long as they are clever enough to catch on and realize there is more to it.

Some find it a waste of time, but some others find it endlessly amusing to see them struggle.

And that was precisely why a particularly dissatisfied death god had arrived at the beginning of the year, to watch.

Who'd think wizard humans existed? And magic! But the wizards themselves were so disappointing. The shinigami had been around the castle since the beginning of September, and god, they were so gossipy and- and-, so quirky. In his eyes they were puny little things, most of them so easily manipulated. And so fragile. Drop one of them and they break. That's barely any fun! So he looked. Stuck his head in doors, stood over either of the four tables at the Hall and watching their interactions, listened in on lessons. And so far all of these human-teenager students looked the same to him. Apparently, these kids were divided in four groups depending on their personality, but they were all equally dreadful, he could tell that much. Especially the green ones that are supposed to be snakes. Seriously, how dumb is that? And there was a yellow badger group too. Now that is dumb. Of all the majestic animals they could choose! Now, the lion, that was a much more acceptable animal. Or so he thought.

He didn't really care either way.

Another interesting thing was the tournament these people had set up. If he'd heard correctly, these competition seemed to be very much dangerous, to such levels, that people died so often they had to stop doing it just because the event quickly lost any fun and excitement it was supposed to have after somebody dies.

Funny, it was the Triwizard tournament, until that boy - Harry - got chosen to compete when he clearly didn't follow the criteria dictated at the announcement of the tournament. It was obvious he hadn't put his name in, he didn't look like the type; the Potter human was _modest_and seemed very hesitant to go up to the chamber where the other champions were. He had been clearly entered into the contest by someone older, not a student for sure, without his consent. These so-called powerful wizards and witches really couldn't be blinder even if someone stabbed their eyes with a pair of needles.

The god of death came to the decision he would have to look into it. And maybe follow around that one human that had caught his interest, Harry Potter**.**

* * *

At the beginning of the year, Harry Potter's only worries were the Death Eater raid at the Quidditch World Cup, Voldemort, escaped convict slash godfather Sirius Black, and the strange dream at what he later learned to be the old Riddle manor. Until now, if somebody had told him an enchanted goblet that released a piece of harmless parchment with his name in a burst of blue flames which, obviously, decided his fate for the rest of the school year and made everyone he ever trusted turn his back on him, he would have laughed them all the way to a mental hospital. Except, not really. He'd probably give them a nasty look, as if they had written the future for him, and braced himself for what was about to come.

It was almost embarrassing, he decided, as he made his way to double Potions. He had dealt with a possessed man in a purple turban, a three-headed Cerberus, a giant chess game, Aragog,the Whomping Willow, a flying Ford Anglia, the ghost of a fairly attractive young Voldemort and his pet Basilisk, Gilderoy Lockhart (who was a major burden all by himself), Dementors, and had cleared (somewhat) the name of a man who had been falsely accused of murder and betrayal for more than twelve years, and shoved into Azkaban without a trial. What is Voldemort up to this time, he couldn't help but wonder. Was this his idea of some sick joke, or a genius master plan to send his self-esteem plummeting to the last layer of hell and let anxiety gnaw away at his sanity, until the Boy-Who-Lived was destroyed once and for all? Harry could clearly picture in his mind a smug-looking Voldemort raise his wand to deliver the killing curse while everyone in the school stood behind him, laughing and taunting. Ron stood there too, telling him he was disqualified for being a cheat and that Malfoy had won the tournament.

But that was impossible and of course, would never happen. It would be a gross understatement to say that thought wasn't the most idiotic thing that had ever occurred to him. Considering Harry's pessimism and knack for exaggerating everything in his mind to ridiculous levels, it was damn well saying something. Back on topic, though, Draco would never be allowed to participate, and it took him every ounce of willpower he had to keep himself of laughing at the mental image of Voldemort strutting through the front gates, right under Albus Dumbledore's crooked nose.

Maybe, just maybe, he was letting this whole tournament ordeal get to him a little too much. Deadly tasks aside, this was nothing he hadn't faced before in his three years at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Or for the most part, anyway. The other students were no problem, especially after his second year when everyone believed he was the heir of Salazar Slytherin because of the accident at Lockhart's pointless duelling club, that was only used to rub in everyone faces that they could never be as fabulous as him. Word of the incident with Justin Finch-Fletchley and the conjured snake spread around like wildfire through Hogwarts' indecipherable gossip network. Harry remembered very clearly everyone had avoided him like the plague after that, and told their friends and family about famous Harry Potter's descent into darkness, and who he had apparently chosen as his dark lady. But after the whole episode at the Chamber of Secrets with Ginny everyone - and everything - had gone back to normal. It's been like this, always. They love him, then he did something inexplicable and all of a sudden he was the next dark lord. Then he saved the day and everyones ungrateful arses, and they loved him again, celebrated him. Harry had longed learned his lesson. He hardly gave any importance to this unnerving behavioural patterns anymore, not more than he should anyway because hey, people could say some pretty awful things. Nevertheless, opinions at Hogwarts were volatile, finicky little things not worth anybody's time.

But things were different this year. Harry still had a hard time processing in his mind the fact Hufflepuffs were, for once, even nastier than the slithery house of snark itself. Said house wasn't that much beyond their normal bullying level, and really just annoyed him. With the Hufflepuffs however, he guessed it was no surprise. It was the house of Cedric Diggory. Noble, popular, athletic Cedric Diggory. The 'true Hogwarts champion'. The honest one, the one who didn't cheat. His housemates were just being loyal in the end, and Harry understood that. But that didn't mean Harry had to like it. And another thing that had not ever crossed his mind when his name came out of that condemned goblet was that, for the first time, his friends would not be there to support him in this messy situation. Then, the confrontation with Ron happened, and that was pretty much the only thing he needed to confirm his worries from when he sulked all the way back to the common room.

Harry had come to the bitter, bitter realization - and painful indeed - that he was in this alone.

Sirius' name was still muddier than the sole of a boot. Harry wasn't as close to anyone else, like Neville and other 'friendly acquaintances', as he would like to think. He was pretty sure none of them believed him anyway, so even if he were on friendly terms with them, he couldn't exactly pour out his heart and soul to them. And Dumbledore, he had too much in his hands, surely, to deal with such a petty and trivial little problem. He was alone, he repeated over and over in his mind. It was a little painful when it dawned on him he had to deal with all three tasks by himself.

The cherry atop this sour cake of bullshit was walking into two hours of being in the presence of the greasy Potions professor. It was the cherry above that metaphorical cherry having to take in his insults. Harry was in no mood for his sass and completely unjustified mistreatment, and not being able to talk back was one of his biggest woes, he realized. as he walked alongside Hermione down the corridors leading to the eerie dungeons of the Hogwarts castle. Harry supposed being the carbon copy of James Potter didn't exactly help. Now that he had kicked the bucket the next in line for Snape's hatred and resentments was, obviously, Harry himself. Before he knew it Severus would take advantage of all the hatred spilling out from all sides - the Ravenclaws hated him a lot more than he initially expected, they really were thick for a house of cleverness - and start the 'Antagonize Harry Potter' hateclub.

You'd think, after all this, fate would cut the guy some slack, but Harry wasn't about to be given that luxury.

He first saw people wearing those things when he noticed the cluster of Slytherins standing outside Snape's dungeon. For a terrifying fraction of a second he thought they had all been wearing those S.P.E.W badges, and Hermione had somehow gotten around the wards against the Unforgivables and used the Imperius curse on them to make the unknowing students join her pointless cause. A second after he got close enough to make words out, and they weren't S.P.E.W badges, to his short-lived relief.

**SUPPORT CEDRIC DIGGORY - THE REAL HOGWARTS CHAMPION!**

Okay, it seemed harmless enough, if not a little immature. Until:

"Like them, Potter? And this isn't all they do - look!"

The badge now glowed green.

**POTTER STINKS!**

Really.

Soon after, the rest of Malfoy's little followers pressed their badges too, and in the blink of an eye 'Potter Stinks!' was being flashed at him from all directions. The snake house howled with laughter, and Harry felt heat rise up to his face and neck when he spotted Ron standing there with Dean and Seamus. They weren't laughing, but none were willing to stick up for their fellow Gryffindor. Hermione said something; he didn't hear, but it was probably something to defend him. Speaking of which, Harry still didn't know what to think of her. She hadn't truly believed him either, he was sure, yet she still cared about her friend's well-being. That made Harry feel a little better until he remembered he couldn't go to Hermione for the kind of support he so longed for.

Malfoy offered a badge to Hermione without missing the golden opportunity to insult her blood, and too forcibly for his personal liking, and some of the anger gathered from the past few days seemed to burst like a dam through his chest.

Wands were out, and before jinxes could escape either of their mouths everyone had already scrambled out of the way and further down the corridor.

Spells collided in midair and ricocheted all over the place like bullets. Harry's hit Goyle, and Malfoy's hit Hermione. Goyle bellowed and put his big hands to his nose, where great ugly boils were springing up. Hermione whimpered and clutched her mouth as her teeth grew to a size that was surely not natural. This time, Ron did step up.

"Hermione!"

Harry watched in shock as the red-headed boy rushed to her side and tried to pry her hands away to see what was wrong. He ended up winning, and when the mesmerized public to their duel took a very good look at her chin-length beaver-like front teeth, Hermione let out a startled and dismayed cry. The rate at which they grew must have been more alarming for her than Harry thought. He grimaced.

* * *

Fifty points left and a detention later, courtesy of Snape, he had been relieved when Colin Creevey came with the news that all champions must report upstairs.

Before he could think anything of it, after watching the exchange with Snape and Colin (must have been infinitely harrowing for him; poor guy) he rushed to swing his school-bag over his shoulder and followed Colin out the door without a word, catching several flashes of green from the Slytherin table out of the corner of his eye.

Colin, you're a live-saver!

* * *

To be completely sincere, Harry had not once considered what they could ever want him for, aside from pictures. Oh, he was one of the champions alright, but walking into that chamber with three other people who had entered cleanly (and willingly) into the Triwizard Tournament was like stepping on hot sand with bare feet, and Harry felt very much like a bug on the underside of a shoe. Out of place. He wasn't a champion, not really. The moment Colin mentioned his dismissal from class to Snape Harry was too busy being joyful over getting out of class - Potions, of all classes, even!

But of all things, the last one he had been expecting after the pictures were taken for the Prophet, which was harmless enough, was _this_.

Rita Skeeter's lips curled into a venomous smile, watching Harry fidget slightly under her penetrating gaze.

"So, Harry... What made you decide to enter the Triwizard Tournament?"

Goddammit, Colin.

* * *

Dinner was uneventful.

Harry had gone down to dinner after the disastrous 'interview' with the eccentric Skeeter woman. Hermione wasn't there - he supposed she was still in the hospital wing having her teeth fixed. He then ate, alone, at the very end of the table where no one sat, and returned to the Gryffindor Tower.

"You've had an owl," Said Ron brusquely the moment he walked in. He was pointing at Harry's pillow. The school barn owl was waiting for him there, and as if on cue, it hooted impatiently when Harry laid his eyes upon the bird.

"Oh, right,"

Why on earth was Ron talking to him? For second Harry got the impression Ron didn't really hate him and tried to act casual so everything would back to normal - he'd done this before. But their fights had never gone up to such scale, Harry remembered, and Ron was stubborn. That'd never happen. And even if it did, Harry wouldn't let his plan unfold so smoothly; he was expecting an apology for being a prat. Now, his hopes for such thing were slowly diminishing. He frankly had no clue if everything would be the same after this. It made him sad for a second, but Harry shoved those feelings away before they got out of hand. It didn't matter. He had much more to worry about.

Like:

"And we've got to do our detentions tomorrow night, Snape's dungeon," said Ron.

Then he walked out, just like that.

Harry considered for a very short time answering back with some sort of hurtful remark. In the end, the lure of Sirius' reply to his letter was too strong. Even if it was just for a couple of minutes while he read it, Harry was more than glad to push the memory of the day's past events to the back of his mind and focus on the words of the only person he could truly trust.

_Harry -_

_I can't say everything I would like to in a letter, it's too risky in case the owl is intercepted - we need to talk face-to-face. Can you ensure that you are alone by the fire in Gryffindor tower at one o'clock in the morning on the 22nd of November? I know better than anyone that you can look after yourself, and while you're around Dumbledore and Moody I don't think anyone will be able to hurt you. However, someone seems to be having a good try. Entering you in that tournament would have been very risky, especially right under Dumbledore's nose._

_Be on the watch, Harry. I still want to hear about anything unusual. Let me know about the 22nd of November as quickly as you can._

_Sirius_

Harry smiled, happy for the first time in days. Probably, the next few days before the first task wouldn't be so bad.

* * *

He could have almost laughed cried at how disgustingly wrong he was. Almost.

Everything started going downhill when everyone got their copies of that day's Daily Prophet. Everything was fine, until her article. Rita Skeeter was assigned to do a report of the Triwizard Tournament, but as it turned out, it was much more a highly colored life-story of Harry Potter. The other champions, whose names had been misspelled - deliberately, he suspected - were squashed at the very bottom of the article. And Cedric hadn't been mentioned at all. Kind of, he expected everyone to be even angrier, but it seemed they had taken a different route.

Harry thought he had too much on his plate already before they began mocking him about Rita's exaggeration of his life. People had been predicting how many times he would burst into tears in the middle of Transfiguration, talking about his best friend Colin Creevey and the love of his life, Hermione Granger. It was entirely beyond him how in the name of Merlin's holy buttocks Rita Skeeter had achieved to transform his 'er's' into sickening, dramatic, and long sentences about his depressing life.

And when he snapped at Cho, Harry just felt stupid.

"Just ignore it, Harry."

But Harry couldn't, not that easily. Ron had not spoken to him, whatsoever, since he'd told him about the detention with Snape. He had half-hoped they'd make things up while handling rat brains in the professors dungeon, but that had been the day Rita released her masterpiece, which seemed to have confirmed Ron's belief that Harry was genuinely enjoying all the attention. Hermione went from one to the other, trying to convince one of them to step up and apologize. She was furious, and honestly Harry didn't feel sorry at all. He made it explicit he would not talk to Ron until he admitted Harry hadn't put his name in the Goblet of Fire and apologized for calling a liar.

"You miss him!"

And that moment he was just as angry at Hermione.

He didn't miss him. It was Ron's problem. If he was going to be like that, then Harry would most certainly not waste his time fighting a losing battle. Ron could sod off for all he cared.

So, instead, he focused his mind on the next trip to Hogsmeade.

* * *

Dragons.

_Dragons_.

Under his invisibility cloak, Harry had hurried up alongside Hagrid and Madame Maxime as he led her around a clump of trees and came to a halt. For a split second, Harry had thought he must have been seeing bonfires, and men darting around them - and then his mouth fell open.

After all he had been through, Harry liked to think there were few things that could honestly shock him, but...

_Dragons_!

Four fully-grown, enormous, vicious-looking dragons were rearing onto their hind legs inside an enclosure fenced with thick planks of wood, roaring and snorting - torrents of fire were shooting into the dark sky from their open, fanged mouths, fifty feet above the ground on their outstretched necks. There was a silvery-blue one with long, pointed horns, snapping and snarling at the wizards on the ground; a smooth-scaled green one, which was writhing and stamping with all its might; a red one with an odd fringe of gold spikes around its face, which was shooting mushroom-shaped jets of fire into the air; and a gigantic black one, more lizard-like than the others, which was nearest to them.

At least thirty wizards, seven or eight to each dragon, were attempting to control them, pulling on the chains connected to heavy leather straps around their necks and legs. Awe-struck, Harry looked up, high above him, and saw the eyes of the black dragon, with vertical pupils like a cat's, bulging with either fear or rage. He couldn't tell which. It was making a horrible noise, a yowling, screeching scream...

Harry gulped, an image of him dashing across a stage and fleeing from the grand black dragon flashing across his mind.

They weren't kidding when they said it'd be best to let only wizards of age participate.

Minutes later, Harry was rushing back to the castle. After the accident with Karkaroff back at the forest - he had to berate himself for not being careful and slamming into the man while under the cloak - Harry still debated whether or not it was a good thing he had seen what was coming. On one hand, he still had the opportunity to figure out how the hell he was supposed to get past a dragon, and he wouldn't have to go through the initial shock and pass out cold in front of all three schools when he first saw it on the actual competition (but he would anyway, he was sure). On the other, he felt more vulnerable than ever before. His wand now felt like really just a thin piece of eleven inches of wood against one of those fifty-foot, scaly, spike-ridden, fire-breathing beasts. With everyone watching, on top of that.

_How?_

* * *

A certain death god was beginning to wonder when he would be shown these animals. He, easily, had known about them since they brought them in the forest oh so sneakily, and the other two Headmasters would surely try to catch a small peek at these things to forewarn Delacour and Krum, and prepare them to face a dragon at the first task of the tournament. He didn't need to wait long, for the big man with the beard had brought him a lot sooner than he expected, along with the Beauxbatons woman.

He was confused, at first, by the boy's cloak. He had been standing near the site of the dragons when it happened; there were two visible people approaching, Hagrid and the woman, but three names, however. He'd thought his eyes were playing tricks on him until the boy took off that curious sheet of cloth from himself and revealed his appearance.

Interesting. But not all that impressive. He could still detect him under that cloak, so it would little to no effect on the shinigami if somebody tried to hide from him using that.

And oh boy, if the look on the kid's face when he looked at the Horntail wasn't hilarious, he didn't know what it was. He felt himself starting to feel a sort of sorry for the human, but then again, it mattered very little to him how miserable Harry was. He just hoped the human would be able to amuse him, considering what he was about to do.

Curious, he extended his long, bony wings, flew after the boy and out of the forest. The death god reached for one of the two black notebooks strapped to his belt, thinking...

He flew ahead of the boy, and higher up.

* * *

_Thud._

Harry panicked and froze on the spot, every muscle tensing, and chewing down on his bottom lip to choke back a startled sound. The first thing that occurred to him was someone -or worse,something - had been following him, without thinking once the invisibility cloak very well made that impossible. Maybe it was Moody, Harry thought, horrified momentarily. He was able to see through his cloak with that eye of his... but no. It wasn't Moody. After he took a moment to calm down (damn aftershock) he was positive it wasn't a person. Whatever it was, it couldn't have been following him for sure; the sound came from further up ahead.

He looked up, and through the silky fabric of his cloak he could see something small on the ground that was probably not a rock. It was flat, dark in color, and-

Rectangular?

A strong wind rushed past and the thing opened. There was a sound - he couldn't hear, the wind had shaken the trees... Gathering up what little he had left of his so-called Gryffindor courage, Harry approached to hear more clearly, and indeed, the sound was the rustling of paper.

It was a book - no, it was empty, with lines - a notebook.

Harry was very close to kicking himself when he bent over and picked it up from the ground. A falling notebook. He had been scared out of his wits by a falling notebook!

But, that's the thing, where did it fall from?

He scoffed, and in one of his infamous moments of carelessness he slipped off the cloak from his body to take a better look at the thing. Maybe there'd be a name, the one of the owner, and he'd be able to return it tomorrow morning.

Harry read the title at the top. It was written in a pretty white, somewhat silvery ink that hardly glistened in the moonlight, but what it read took his attention away from it.

**_Death Note._**

His eyebrows rose up dangerously close to his hairline.

Harry wondered what kind of drug one must be under to name a notebook something so pointlessly morbid like that. But these were wizards. Maybe this was a magical notebook someone dropped.

Deciding not to think of it any further, he opened the notebook and was greeted by the sight he was expecting the least. Rules? Why rules of all things...?

But he was curious.

So Harry eyed them, skimming through the white letters, starting from the bottom, until he reached the very first rule.

He'd thought he read wrong.

He thought something must have been misspelled.

But after reading it over and over Harry saw that there was no error.

_"The human whose name is written in this note shall die?"_

* * *

_**This will be it for now, I'll begin writing the second chapter as soon as I can.**_

_**Reviews are very much appreciated!**_


	3. Chapter 2: Death God

**Alright, here it is, chapter two! I'm very sorry this took so long, I've been quite sick (and terribly busy too, on top of that!) for these past few weeks and it was impossible for me to write regularly. This chapter was going to be longer but I decided to leave it how it is because I truly do have a bunch of other stuff to finish. I hope you all enjoy :) And I offer a big thank-you for my two reviewers and all the people that followed and/or faved this story. It really does mean a lot to me that someone likes my writing, so thank you, again.**

_**Disclaimer: Anything you recognize does not belong to me. I do not have any intention to write this for profit.**_

* * *

**_Chapter 2: Death God_**

_""As a rule they say humans haunted by a death god have nothing but misfortune."_

* * *

**_Last chapter:_**

_Deciding not to think of it any further, he opened the notebook and was greeted by the sight he was expecting the least. Rules? Why rules of all things...?_

_But he was curious._

_So Harry eyed them, skimming through the white letters, starting from the bottom, until he reached the very first rule._

_He'd thought he read wrong._

_He thought something must have been misspelled._

_But after reading it over and over Harry saw that there was no error._

_"The human whose name is written in this note shall die?"_

* * *

Harry snorted.

"Right."

His first emotion was disbelief. Then amusement. Who'd think someone would go that far, just for a prank notebook? A little outlandish for a joke, if you asked him, even for a wizarding one - he didn't think one of the muggleborn students brought this with them. But, he figured he would have to give them at least some credit. If Harry's rank of common sense suddenly dropped to the ground, he would without a doubt panic if he found a notebook that could take somebody's life just by writing their name on it. And now that he thought about it, the humor behind this seemingly harmless prank notebook was purely malevolent. If not cruel. One could give this to someone gullible enough and watch their hysteria as they write a name.

Harry flipped through the blank pages indifferently. If one disregarded the set of rules at either side of the interior and its given name on the cover, the notebook had a normal enough appearance. In fact, removing aforementioned would make it just a normal, 50-page, unused black notebook. And with no name, he was quick to notice. So it didn't have an owner, nor had it been used yet.

He shut the book closed.

It wasn't Harry's type of humor, but he briefly considered 'dropping' this in the Great Hall tomorrow, maybe at lunch. Harry was curious. Anyone who picked this up and believed the notebook was telling the truth would write a name, he was sure. School grudges could go quite far if pushed enough by both parties. But the question is, who would they kill? It would be hard to see these people every day without asking himself, who would they kill, if given the opportunity to do it without getting their hands dirty? Harry, himself, would write Voldemort's name - maybe. The worst that could happen would be it'd look kind of anticlimactic if Tom dropped dead one day, and frankly, he didn't think he would feel any remorse at all for taking such a cursed life.

Abruptly, the idea of the Death Note was appealing. Yet, the only thing that stopped him from slipping the Death Note into the pocket of his robes was a simple question, one that kept him from hiding it away to look at it more closely.

In the minuscule chance this was real, and he wrote a name, would that make him a murderer?

Harry failed to notice how white his knuckles had gone from gripping the Death Note too tightly. He read the title, over and over, as if he would be able to find an answer somehow in those two innocuous words. But he didn't need to.

_Yes, yes it would. _

It went against all of his principles to take the life of an innocent being, but somehow, he felt drawn to it. It could easily be the answer to all of his problems, that thing. The root of all the life-threatening issues he was put through for three years was Voldemort. He'd thought about this before. What if Voldemort didn't exist? What if, he had never been the boy who lived, what if he had a home he could look forward to going back to during the holidays, and parents?

You wouldn't have been much friends with Ron and Hermione, a small voice at the back of his mind said.

But they had abandoned him.

Harry let out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding. A nasty feeling had begun bubbling up within him. He didn't like it, not one bit.

Still hypothetically speaking, mind you, using something like this on Voldemort would make things better. And stoop him down to the level of the very same man he had killed, in exchange. Harry had to ask himself, would he really do something like that, something so selfish, to take revenge on the one person who ruined his life and become a killer? He would be killing for good, though, and that changed things around. Voldemort killed out of his own bigotry. He was a blood purist - and a hypocritical one too, being a half-blood himself - and a vicious megalomaniac who had given up his own humanity for power. He killed innocent people who had done nothing... He shivered.

Harry's train of thought crashed with reality when he was reminded he was still out in the school grounds, in just his uniform, in _November_. The nasty feeling when from bad to worse; this notebook really was something, if it caused him to even consider the possibility of committing murder, whether it was for the better on not. Harry was painfully reminded of his second year, and the memory of the diary made him feel very glad he had another excuse to put it down where it was. That was still another thing he hadn't considered - this book could be cursed, like Tom's diary. It could have some kind of dark compulsion charm on it that made you want to kill people... Yes, that was it - it was cursed.

He extended his arm, ready to drop it -

Harry flinched when world around him went dark. He looked up, just in time, to see a creature land gracefully in front him, blocking any light the moon offered.

The young teen found himself frozen to the ground, as it leaned in and grinned behind its frightening mask.

"It's real, you know."

Harry blinked.

* * *

The tall creature merely watched in mild amusement as the human let out an almighty scream and tumble away from him, tripping clumsily on his own feet and falling on his rear before he could get too far away from the demonic monster. This didn't seem to sit well with the boy, and so to compensate for his embarrassing fall, he took one of those rabbit-out-of-a-hat hoo-hah sticks - _wands, _he reminded himself - and pointed it at the him. If he had been scared watching the dragons, the death god mused, Harry was downright _petrified _when he looked at him. Deep inside, the shinigami sort of regretted appearing so soon after he dropped the notebook. Even if it was for a few short moments, watching this boy pick it up and seeing his face of disbelief when he saw the rules had been fun. As a matter of fact, he had to avoid laughing when the Potter kid seemed to think it was some kind of prank one of these thick-headed humans had cooked up, all on their own. But curiously enough, Harry was so concentrated on his Death Note, he failed to notice when he flew from his place on a branch to make his appearance. So he _had _given it some consideration, after all. Humans will be humans.

Then the boy screamed again - no, he didn't scream. He said something; one of the mumbo-jumbo conjuration chants, he'd seen them before during classes and around the castle. A red light shot out of Harry's wand and hit him square on the chest. This calmed Harry down to some extent when he saw the creature hadn't moved, but relief turned to distress when he saw the stunner go straight through his body and disappear. He exclaimed something else - diffindo or what's its name - and stared in horror as his spell did the same as last time - nothing.

"C'mon, I'm ugly, but not that much. Have some tact," He said in a mocking, accusing tone, a he lifted a clawed hand and pointed at the shivering human."You're hurting my feelings."

He expected the boy to stand up and run now that he had the chance, or shriek again, even, but instead, Harry accomplished to surprise him when he just looked at his finger in confusion. Harry took comfort in learning the creature was intelligent, perchance, or that it hadn't fought back when he had been at the offensive two seconds ago. The shinigami took a step further and saw a flash of doubt in the boy's eyes, but he simply swallowed back a lump in his throat and shakily supported himself with the trunk of a tree to bring his body back to a stand, then dusted himself off awkwardly. Harry pocketed his wand again and picked the notebook, which he'd previously dropped in his moment of panic.

The death god was going to speak until the boy beat him to it.

"What- no, _who_ are you?"

At least he doesn't think he's just a dumb animal. Any death god would be insulted.

"Czar."

Harry now was just exasperated. The shinigami - Czar - could bet his soul this kid thought he was a sort of rare, foreign magical creature.

"No, I mean, _what are you_?" Harry asked, examining him from head to toe, no doubt what species of 'magical creature' could be so- so-... So _devilish_.

But okay, in shinigami standards, Czar was pretty darn majestic, he did say so himself, being one of the more vain ones. He wasn't all that hideous or inhumane for a shinigami; although you couldn't really see it, the face behind white bone mask looked human enough, just a little distorted, of course. His eyes were narrow with black sclerae and pupils, but bright hazel irises that glowed if you looked very close while in a dark space. And for the mask, it resembled the appearance of a human skull, except the eye-sockets were far more slanted, the face longer and the cheekbones more pronounced, and its mouth was lined with some deadly-looking fangs that gave one the impression the skull's face was twisted into a wicked smile. Czar himself had long white horns, not unlike those of a goat's, and a grand, golden, jewel-encrusted crown decorating the top of his head (it appeared something worth having until one realized it was literally stuck to his skull), along with a wild mop of black hair that was easily comparable to Harry's own. On his back, now retracted, were a pair of birdlike, bony black wings, contrasting very easily with his chalk-white body, that somewhat like a very detailed and sharp armor made of the same material as his mask. And though all of this looked very intimidating on their own, Czar's signature trait was his inexplicable need to wear jewelry. Rings on both hands, bracelets, chains, necklaces, you name it. As one last detail he wore a simple-looking black leather belt with several pouches. All of them were empty except for one, which held his Death Note.

"A shinigami," He said, rather condescendingly.

Without thinking, Harry put away the Death note in one of his pockets and began arranging his uniform, as if he were going somewhere important. Lastly, he picked up the discarded invisibility cloak before he could forget and leave it there. "Er, alright then, a shinigami, I should go-"

"No, wait, you speak English. I'm a _death god._ Does that clear anything up?"

* * *

Okay, so he found this notebook lying on the ground, picks it up, goes through some exceedingly disturbing moment of self-doubt, and then is terrorized - so badly, the shock would last a lifetime unquestionably - by a shinigami. No, wait, death god. Remember those two cherries from before? Well, this sour cake of bullshittery is now decorated not by two, but _three _cherries, this mess he'd somehow gotten himself into being the the third one. At the end of the the year, he would have a rotten 4-tiered cake with cherries all over it. Bittersweet metaphorical pastries aside though, he still had to run back to the castle to be on time for Sirius. Harry had almost forgotten! Now he had, what, less than five minutes? Not good. Oh hell, this wasn't any good. His one-time chance to speak with Sirius, gone! And there was Karkaroff, too. He wouldn't doubt for a second he knew what he was up to. He had sneaked off his ship to try and find out what the first task was going to be. He might even have spotted Hagrid and Madame Maxime heading off around the forest together - they were hardly difficult to spot from a long distance. By the looks of it, the only champion who would be facing the unknown on Tuesday was Cedric...

Once again, he was shaken off his thoughts by a rush of cold wind, and all too suddenly to his liking he focused back on the problem standing right in front of him. Right then, Harry had a strong urge to ask what exactly a death god was supposed to be, which he was sensible enough to keep away for later, when he had the time. He cleared his throat, apprehensive.

"So, okay, Czar, death god, whoever you are, I'm really sorry to have interrupted whatever it was you were doing, but I'm in a rush -"

Harry was quick to grow irritated when Czar chortled, as if he had just told him a very good joke. He narrowed his eyes at the monster before scowling and storming off, walking past him as quickly as his legs could carry him without actually running.

"I have to go."

Unsurprisingly, Czar turned and followed, easily catching up to him. What was it doing! Did it really think it would walk in all the way into the castle with him? If someone saw him with a creature like _that _trailing him there would be panic. And actually, he shouldn't even be considering it, because it was most certainly not slow him down! In the case he was not on a rush and Czar didn't look so abhorrent, Harry would stop and tell it with all the politeness he could muster to go away. He wasn't in that position, however, so Harry turned his head to glare daggers at the smug-looking death god as he was on his way to the castle.

"Well? Why are you still following me?"

"Because I have to."

What the heck was it playing at?

"I don't think so." Harry snarled back, slightly out of breath (he had broken into a run somewhere in the trek across the school grounds), hurrying through the darkness. He reached the castle, slipped in through the front doors, and continued his race up the marble staircase, hoping it wouldn't take long to run all the way to the Gryffindor tower.

"Actually, you-"

"Look, just take this!" Harry hissed, shoving back the invisibility cloak. He would have used it for himself, really, but covering Czar was more important, and if someone caught them there would be much less questions to answer. Harry didn't know if he could actually fit it under the cloak, that was the problem... He guessed a pair of legs walking through the halls at one o'clock wouldn't be too strange. Jesus Christ, why did he have to deal with this right now of all times!

Czar looked quizzically at the sheet of silk handed to him, then shrugged and draped it over himself without asking any questions about what it did, strangely enough. Under different circumstances Harry could have actually found this positively silly.

"Balderdash!" He gasped at the Fat Lady, who was snoozing in her frame in front of the portrait hole. Harry prayed in his mind there'd be no people pulling all-nighters today. If they saw Czar...

"If you say so," She muttered sleepily, without opening her eyes, and the picture swung forward to admit him. Harry climbed inside. The common room - thank god - was deserted. Perfect. Not missing even the tiniest fraction of time, Harry threw himself on an armchair in front of the fire after insisting Czar hide in the corner of the room where he would not be seen. Luckily the room was in semi-darkness; flames were the only source of light, and Czar would barely need to try in order to keep himself away from Sirius' line of sight. Nearby, on a table, the _Support Cedric Diggory!_ badges the Creevey brothers had been trying to improve were glinting in the firelight. They now read _POTTER REALLY STINKS_.

"No! Put that down!"

There was a clatter as Czar threw the badge back on the table, wheezing in laughter, before Harry shut him up with the dirtiest look he could form on his face. The nerve! He knew the death god wasn't really intimidated, so the reason why his look actually worked remained unknown.

Harry looked back into the flames and jumped.

Sirius' head was sitting in the fire. If Harry hadn't seen do exactly this back in the Weasleys' kitchen, it would have freaked him out. Instead, his face breaking into the biggest smile he had worn that night, he scrambled out of his chair, crouched down by the hearth, and said, "Sirius - how're you doing?"

Sirius looked different from Harry's memory of him. When they had said good-bye, Sirius' face had been gaunt and sunken, surrounded by a quantity of long, black, matted hair - but the hair was short and clean now, Sirius' face was fuller, and he looked younger, much like the only photograph Harry had of him, which had been taken at the Potter's wedding.

"Never mind me, how are you?"

"I'm -" For a second, Harry tried to fay "fine" - but he couldn't do it, because he knew it would be a filthy, filthy lie. He glanced fleetingly at Czar before turning his attention back on Sirius. This encounter was much less pleasant once he recalled he had a skeleton-bird-goat monster in the same room with him.

* * *

When the boy wasn't looking, Czar shook his head, incredulous, shrugging the obtrusive cloak off himself. Silently, he sneaked up from behind Harry to take a look at the man he was talking to in the fire (_really?_) and tried to guess who he was supposed to be. His father? No, Potter's parents were dead, he was sure he'd heard that somewhere, and this Sirius person didn't really look like the kid at all. Maybe he was an uncle, or something. Either way, he knew right away the Potter human and this man were very close. If he really was going to be honest with himself, Czar was a little shocked when he saw Harry put so much trust in this man. In all the time he had been watching the boy he rarely talked to other students, not even the bushy-haired girl and Mr. Ginger Freckles, who were his 'best friends', and two-thirds of the 'Golden Trio'. It hadn't always been like that though, the moment it all started going downhill was when his name was entered in the goblet by god-knows-who and everyone couldn't go three seconds without sneering at him. They were all kind of pathetic in Czar's most frank opinion; ninety-five percent of all the students for being plain dumb and Harry himself for putting his trust in the wrong people. Czar was dangerously bordering on wanting to steer him on the right direction, but only because he didn't want to haunt a weak human until he died or gave up ownership of the Death Note.

The death god half-listening to their conversation (as he wondered what kind of approach he should take when the moment came in which he would have to explain the notebook, which was one-sided at this point - Harry had begun rambling to this man about his problems; about how no one believed he had not entered the tournament on his own free will, how Rita Skeeter had lied about him in the Daily Prophet, how he couldn't walk down a corridor without being glared at, and about Ron, Ron not believing him, Ron's jealousy... Ron this, Ron that, Ron the other thing. It was sad watching someone waste their time on such a despicable, sordid brat. But it was not his problem to deal with.

He focused more now, noticing Harry was about to finish.

"...And now Hagrid's just shown me what's coming in the first task, and it's dragons, Sirius, and I'm a goner," Harry finished desperately. Czar noted Harry had omitted the part when his soul had almost been scared out of his body by a shinigami. Czar couldn't help but wonder what led him to withhold that particular piece of information.

Sirius looked up at Harry with unmistakable concern in his eyes. He had let the boy talk himself into silence without interruption, but now he said, "Dragons we can deal with, Harry, but we'll get to that in a minute - I haven't got long here... I've broken into a wizarding house to use the fire, but they could be back at any time. There are things I need to warn you about."

"What?" Said Harry, no doubt feeling his spirits slip a further few notches. Czar's interest was piqued too; surely there could be nothing worse than dragons?

"Karkaroff," Said Sirius. Ah, of course. "Harry, he was a Death Eater. You know what Death Eaters are, don't you?

"Yes - he - _what_?"

This time it was Czar's turn to speak. "A dog couldn't have worse observation skills than you do, kid."

Czar contemplated the boy calmly when he turned his head to look at him in fright, jumping at the sound of his voice. From shocked, his expression turned stern, not quite knowing what to do, and gazed back into the fire (probably expecting the other man ask him about it after screaming in terror) just in time to see Sirius quirk an eyebrow at him.

"Harry? You alright?"

"Er," Harry glanced back at him and frowned, giving him that 'we'll talk about this later' look. "Yeah, I'm fine, just thought I'd heard something..."

Both paused. From the look on Sirius' face Czar knew straight away this guy wasn't entirely convinced, but he didn't say anything else.

Czar clicked his tongue in mock disappointment. "Oh, you heard something alright. Also, I forgot to tell you, only you can see and hear me."

Harry gave him the same look.

_Whoops_. Czar shrugged. "You didn't ask."

"_Anyway_," Sirius continued, "He was caught, he was in Azkaban with me, but he got released. I'd bet everything that's why Dumbledore wanted and Auror at Hogwarts this year - to keep an eye on him. Moody caught Karkaroff. Put him into Azkaban in the first place."

"Karkaroff got released?" Harry said slowly - his brain seemed to be struggling to absorb yet another piece of shocking information. "Why did they release him?"

"He did a deal with the Ministry of Magic," Said Sirius bitterly. "He said he'd seen the error of his ways, then he named names... He put a load of other people into Azkaban in his place... He's not very popular in there, I can tell you. And since he got out, from what I can tell, he's been teaching the Dark Arts to every student who passes through that school of his. So watch out for the Durmstrang champion as well."

"Okay," Harry replied. "But... Are you saying Karkaroff put my name in the goblet?"

Czar listened closely. It would make sense, if Karkaroff had put his name in the Goblet of Fire, and if that was the case Harry now truly had a blade dangling above his head held only by a hair. After betraying so many of his comrades Karkaroff would want to make it up to his _master _by entering the boy in the tournament as a part of some bigger scheme... Only a hypothesis, still, although very plausible.

Harry continued, "Because if he did, he's a really good actor. He seemed furious about it. He wanted to stop me from competing.

"We know he's a good actor. He convinced the Ministry of Magic to set him free, didn't he? Now, I've been keeping an eye on the Daily Prophet, Harry -"

"You and the rest of the world," Harry corrected, rather grimly.

"-and reading between the lines in that Skeeter woman's article last month, Moody was attacked the night before he started at Hogwarts. Yes, I know she says it was another false alarm," Sirius said hastily, seeing Harry about to speak, "But I don't think so, somehow. I think someone tried to stop him from getting to Hogwarts. I think someone knew their job would be a lot more difficult with him around. And no one's going to look into it too closely; Mad-Eye's heard intruders a bit too often. But that doesn't mean he can't spot the real thing. Moody was the best auror the Ministry ever had."

Czar leaned in more closely, more curious than ever, everything suddenly falling into place. Of course! The first time he saw it, Czar was too perplexed to think much of it, or do anything about it (not like he ever would). But this "Moody" - he wasn't Moody at all. The name hovering above his head clearly said otherwise. Now it all made sense; Moody was attacked, then replaced, by 'Barty Crouch'. Czar wasted no time adding him to the list of suspects. He made a mental note about to ask Harry if there was anything magic that could change your appearance.

"So... What are you saying?" Said Harry, "Karkaroff's trying to kill me? But - why?"

Sirius hesitated.

"I've been hearing some very strange things. The Death Eaters seem to be a bit more active than usual lately. They showed themselves at the Quidditch World Cup, didn't they? Someone set off the Dark Mark... and then - did you head about that Ministry witch who's gone missing?"

"Bertha Jorkins?"

"Exactly.. She disappeared in Albania, and that's definitely where Voldemort was rumored to be last. And she would have known the Triwizard Tournament was coming up, wouldn't she?"

"Yeah, but... "It's not very likely she'd have walked straight into Voldemort, is it?"

"Listen, I knew Bertha Jorkins," Sirius said. "She was at Hogwarts when I was, a few years above your dad and I. And she was an idiot. Very nosy, but no brains, none at all. It's not a good combination, Harry, I'd say she'd be very easy to lure into a trap."

"So... so Voldemort could have found out about the tournament? Is that was you mean?"

"Took you long enough, Granny. If this thing's as popular as they say, I doubt he _wouldn't _know," The death god kindly pointed out for him, instantly pleased at the sight of Harry's face turn sour. He didn't know whether it was the reaction to this brand new bit of info, or because of all his interruptions, but how much he cared amounted exactly to zero.

Harry ignored him. "You think Karkaroff might be here on his orders?"

"I don't know. I just don't know... Karkaroff doesn't strike me as the type who'd go back to Voldemort unless he knew Voldemort was powerful enough to protect him. But whoever put your name in that goblet did it for a reason, and I can't help thinking the tournament would be a very good way to attack you and make it look like an accident."

"Looks like a really good plan from where I'm standing," Harry said, grinning bleakly. They'll just have to stand back and let the dragons do their stuff."

"Right - these dragons, there's a way, Harry. Don't be tempted to try a Stunning Spell - dragons are strong and too powerfully magical to be knocked out by a single stunner, you need about half a dozen wizards at a time to overcome a dragon -"

"Yeah, I know, I just saw,"

"Oh, _you did,_" Remarked Czar, snidely. "I thought you were going to be sick for a moment there."

Sirius continued. "But you can't do it alone. There is a way, and a simple spell is all you need. Just -"

But Harry held up a hand to silence him.

"What's wrong, kid?"

"Someone's coming," Harry replied. Czar wasn't quite sure who was the one he'd been talking to... Well, it didn't really matter, as long as he got the message across.

Turning, Czar did indeed hear footsteps coming down the spiral staircase behind them.

"Go!" Harry hissed at Sirius. "_Go!"_

The boy scrambled to his feet, hiding the fire, as if someone ever saw Black's face within the walls of Hogwarts, they would raise an almighty uproar.

They head a tiny _pop! _in the fire behind them and both knew Sirius had gone.

* * *

Who, of all people, had decided a godforsaken stroll at one o'clock would be a good idea, thus stopping Sirius from telling him how to get past his first task?

Harry was frantic, quickly making up excuses in his mind -

It was Ron. Dressed in his maroon paisley pajamas, Ron stopped dead facing Harry across the room, and looked around. Harry was too distracted seething to notice Czar had settled straight behind him, watching the encounter, disquisitive.

"Who were you talking to?" He asked.

"What's that got to do with you?" Harry growled. "What are you doing down here at this time of night?"

"I just wondered where you -" Ron broke off, shrugging. "Nothing. I'm going back to bed."

Oh, so you worry _now_. Earlier that day, he'd been thinking about toning down his temper a bit, knowing it wouldn't do him any good to give them what they wanted. A _reaction_. Something out of him so they could have the satisfaction to keep taunting and insulting. But this definitely lit a fuse.

"Just thought you'd come nosing around, did you? Harry scoffed. He knew that Ron had no idea what he'd walked in on, knew he hadn't done it on purpose, but he didn't care. At this moment he hated everything about Ron, right down to the several inches of bare ankle showing beneath his pajama trousers. That conversation had been a matter of life or death, and what does he do? Walk right in!

"Sorry about that", Said Ron as his face reddened with anger, incontestably not feeling the least bit bad. "Should have realized you didn't want to be disturbed. I'll let you get on with practicing for your next interview in peace."

Alright, that's just fucking uncalled for.

Harry seized one of the _POTTER REALLY STINKS_ badges off the table and chucked it, gathering all the force he could muster into the throw, across the room. It hit Ron on the forehead ("Ooh, someone's sensitive tonight!") and bounced off. Harry hoped from the bottom of his heart it hurt him.

"There you go," Harry said, feeling oddly proud of himself while Czar guffawed at the scene. "A little something for you to wear on Tuesday. You might even have a scar now, if you're lucky..."

"Oh, _burn_. Straight where it hurts."

"That's what you want isn't it?"

Harry half expected Ron to stop him; heck, he would have even liked Ron to throw a punch at him, but Ron just stood there in his too-small pajamas, gaping, until he finally decided to head back. Probably noticed it wasn't worth it...

Harry caught a glimpse of what looked like guilt on Ron's expression, and Harry couldn't be more happy to know the idiot was beginning to take note of his mistake.

And that didn't necessarily mean he was planning to forgive him anytime soon.

* * *

There was only one thought in Czar's mind.

_"Humans are so interesting!"_

* * *

**Side-note: Czar is based (****_loosely_****) around a hollow from Bleach. His mask is would be kind of similar to hollow!Ichigo's, I suppose, since I had that in mind when designing it. Key word here being /kind of/. It does not look at ****_exactly_**** like Ichigo's, and it's only somewhat inspired on it. I used it only as a guide for what I was aiming for.**

**Reviews are very appreciated!**


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